“Can I trust you to behave yourself while I try on bras?” she asked, passing over the underwear she’d found for him.
“Of course,” he said, lifting his eyebrows in a devious ascent that completely betrayed his words.
Completely untrusting, she backed away and headed for the dressing room. More black and gold and spa-like plushness with mirrors everywhere, she geared up for the marathon. Too snug. Too loose. Too nipply. Too conservative. Too slutty. Ugh. She hated bra shopping. A pair of numbers and letters did not adequately describe boob shape and size.
Mind fuzzed over from the harrowing trials of bra selection, she decided on a few she liked, and changed back to her normal clothes, collecting her finds and wandering out.
A gigantic case of sticker shock bit her in the ass as she handed over her credit card. The cashier neatly folded every piece in recycled brown paper, setting each panty, each bra, each camisole, and even each of her indulgent nail polishes into a jute shopping bag with the store logo on it that she accidentally agreed to, a “seventy-five-dollar value” discounted to ten dollars thanks to the amount of dough she’d spent today.
Trace smiled politely as she took the bag.
By the door, Cole was glaring at his phone, his smaller brown paper gift bag stuffed full in his free hand. They stopped on the landing before the final few steps up to the door, and he typed a message before stuffing the phone back in his pocket. His rare scowl weighed down his expression. He shifted his bag over his wrist and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Did you ask Asher to invite me to his bachelor party?”
“Not exactly. I hadn’t gotten a chance to mention it to you.”
“Fuck, Trace, I can’t go to a goddamn bachelor party.” Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and took a step up.
“Hang on,” she said, grabbing his forearm and stepping up next to him. “Haley called while you were getting your haircut, and she said Asher and Sophie were doing a super low-key bachelor party thing tonight, then a very, very low key, last-minute casual wedding next weekend at the coast. I have perhaps expressed a dissatisfaction with always being the only single one amongst my friends, and Haley mentioned she’d see what Sophie and Asher thought of you coming to the wedding as my plus-one, and then she mentioned maybe you would appreciate being invited out tonight. That’s it. I hadn’t even had time to run it by you.”
He bit down hard on his tongue and shook his head, looking past her and onto the street.
“Cole. Seriously. You don’t have to. I was going to talk to you and see what you thought.”
“Well, Asher just texted and said to come with you to Ahab’s tonight.”
“I thought you liked Asher.”
“I do. He kept me in check when I was about to get us into more trouble than either of our records could handle, back in the day, and he’s one of the few people I’ve talked to since I got back.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Her hand still on his forearm, Cole slid his hand out of his pocket and linked with hers, solid, a plea and a subtly connecting gesture that crushed any idea she might have been brewing, that he was mad at her. “I. Can’t,” he said, his voice weak and gravelly, his eyes red and telling miles more than his words could.
She nodded softly and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, leading him out of the store. The damp wind swirled around them as the wind pushed the door fully shut. She aimed toward the clothing store and stayed quiet until they reached the entrance. The wind rustled through his new haircut, and he released her hand and scrunched his fingers in his hair.
No amount of distance or time could give her the right words, so she went with what she had. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand everything you’re going through, and I don’t know the best way to help you.”
He nodded, distant, his eyes glassing over.
Dammit. She hated how little she knew about him anymore. She hooked her hand around his middle and moved in, nuzzling into his neck. “Hug me back,” she whispered.
He laughed softly through the heavier emotions she knew rattled him, and he wrapped both arms around her. “If there are strippers involved, I could try tonight,” he said, and she felt him shifting into a shit-eating grin as he squeezed her tighter.
Like her mother, Trace was a hugger. As Cole had pointed out, not everything could be fixed with hugs. Especially hugs that weren’t the same as they used to be. No longer the friendly squeeze, now, she melted on contact. Snuggled in for as much warmth as she could absorb. To breathe him in and fill herself with him from head to toe.
She pinched his side as she brought her focus back to the moment.
When she was able to pull away enough to tip her head back and look up at him, he quickly shook away a look and forced a smile.
“No strippers, sorry,” she said playfully.
Easier, as she continued the joking banter instead of either acknowledging how her hugs had evolved, he laughed and held her close. “Who all will be there?”
“Asher, of course. Grady, you remember him?”
“Sort of. I don’t think he liked me.”
“Well, he’s changed a lot. So he and his fiancée, Claire. Then Zane, Asher’s buddy from the Navy. Zane’s got bad PTSD, so you guys can chat about getting shot at.”
